Cursed Legacy
by Winter30
Summary: A more realistic approach to CC. Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange's daughter grows up without her parents in a world where the mere mention of her last name makes everyone shiver with loathing. She also happens to be Neville's student and Teddy Lupin's classmate at Hogwarts, as she struggles to find her identity.


Narcissa Malfoy held her newborn niece. Almost two decades had passed since the last time she had a baby in her arms, and she had forgotten how it felt. She remembered Draco, back when he was that small, that sweet, that fragile. If only she could still embrace him, hide him in her arms, protect him from the dangers of the-

"So…is it all right?" Bellatrix's impatient voice interrupted her thoughts. Her sister still lied on the bed, sheets covered in blood. Her dark hair was messy, her forehead a bit sweaty, but otherwise she looked fine for a woman who had just given birth to a baby for the first time. "The- the child… is it all right?"

"Yes, Bella, she is fine" she replied and leaned in to place the infant on her sister's lap.

"No, I don't have time for that now!" said Bellatrix after a quick glance at the baby, and pushed Narcissa away. "I need to get up, the Dark Lord summoned us an hour ago and-"

"The Dark Lord has been informed about our situation, Bella" said Rodolphus, taking his daughter from Narcissa's arms, after Bellatrix had rejected her. "He sent Travers and Rowle, instead".

"Travers and Rowle!" shrieked Bellatrix sarcastically. "They will ruin the mission!"

"Bella, lie down!" insisted Narcissa and determinedly pushed her back into the bed. "You can't get up immediately after-"

"I spent fourteen years in chains in Azkaban, Cissy! I'm not planning to stay chained on my own bed, not even for a minute!"

"Rodolphus, I need some help here!" panted Narcissa, struggling to restrain Bellatrix, who was now aiming for her wand.

Rodolphus wasn't paying attention, though. He was staring at his daughter. "A new pureblood arrived into our world" he whispered proudly. He had always been wishing for an heir, in spite of Bellatrix's unwillingness. "She's beautiful. She takes after you, Bella. What name should we give her?"

Bellatrix finally stopped fighting. "Lyra" she announced, and Narcissa realized that must have been a decision made months ago. Lyra. Honoring the Black family tradition was expected, of course. She had done the same with Draco.

"Lyra" repeated Rodolphus approvingly. He would never oppose to his wife's commands. "And she should also take a family member's name, right?" He looked at the two women.

"Are you planning to name her _Rodolphus_?" sneered Bellatrix. "Or is there a female version I'm not aware of?"

"How about Druella?" suggested Narcissa, and the ghost of their mother emerged in their memory, only to be instantly dissolved into loathing.

"You would really want to keep that old hag's name alive, wouldn't you?" Bellatrix's tone was harsh now.

"I was going to suggest _your_ name, actually" said Rodolphus. "Bellatrix".

Narcissa studied her brother-in-law's expression. The Lestranges had returned from Azkaban slightly unhinged. Not mad, not deranged, surely. But unbalanced, and unpredictable, and dark. Despite that, Rodolphus was still capable of showing some kind of affection to his wife, an affection which had never been reciprocated, not even before their imprisonment. And Narcissa saw beneath her sister's indifference towards her own daughter, beneath her eagerness to get up, to leave, to run to the Dark Lord's mission, despite her exhausted body and the blood on her clothes and sheets. She saw Bella's frustration that this child had not been fathered by someone else, someone who had never felt the same way about her. So she let her do what she wanted, let her ignore the baby, let her go clean herself without helping her, for Bellatrix had always denied her assistance.

"Lyra Bellatrix Lestrange it is, then" she murmured to Rodolphus, as they heard the bathroom door bang loudly behind Bellatrix.

Only after midnight, when everyone had fallen asleep, did Bellatrix, walking quietly, approach the cradle. The baby was crying. She looked at her daughter's little face for the first time, then picked her up and held her, grimacing at the uncomfortable feeling. "Hush" she whispered curtly, and carried her to the big armchair by the fireplace.

That was where Narcissa found them in the morning. The baby was resting in its mother's arms, and Bellatrix was smiling in her sleep, the first genuine smile in years, which reminded Narcissa of a different time, a different era, back when the world was a bright place.

.

.

**2 May 1998 - Battle of Hogwarts**

Andromeda Tonks apparated in the darkness of the Hogwarts grounds. She should have stayed at home with Teddy, she knew. But she couldn't stand not knowing what was happening at Hogwarts, she couldn't stand the thought of Nymphadora in there.

It was strangely quiet, she realized as she approached the castle's gates. Dora had mentioned the battle had almost started when she rushed out of the house. But now all was quiet. She saw the familiar figure of Kingsley Shacklebolt, and hurried towards him.

"What is going on?" she asked. "Kingsley, where is everybody?"

A flinch of pain passed through his eyes when he saw her, or so she thought, but it was gone almost immediately.

"Voldemort ordered his Death Eaters to return to the forest" he replied. "He's given us an hour to dispose of our dead, as he kindly put it, while he's waiting for Harry Potter". He looked at her. "Andromeda…" he began, as though as he was about to stop her, but then he raised his shoulders in defeat. "Stay strong" he said, as she entered the Great Hall. She walked through the horror of the dead and the injured, and it was all a blur, for all she was looking for was a strand of pink hair.

What about her child? Where was Dora?

The question that pierced her mind, as she saw countless fallen bodies.

_What about my child?_

And then she finally spotted the pink hair, and her world was shattered into a million pieces.

.

.

Narcissa Malfoy ran into the chaos of the Great Hall, alongside Death Eaters and Hogwarts defenders, without paying any attention to either, her mind, her whole existence focused on the only person that mattered in the world: her son. She had lied to the Dark Lord's face, she had betrayed their cause, she had helped the enemy, and yet none of those things mattered if she managed to locate Draco in this burning hell of spells and curses and explosions and screams. She held Lucius's hand as they shouted their son's name, and it was the first time in months she looked at him and didn't see the defeated, numb clouds that had been there since he had returned from Azkaban. They were both wandless. His wand was taken by the Dark Lord in July, and hers was – hopefully- still in Draco's hands, protecting him from harm. Where was he? Potter had said he was alive, he was in the castle…But what if Potter had lied? Or what if something had happened to Draco in Potter's absence? He had been among enemies all night, after all...

_What about my child?_

Hopeless and panic-stricken, she ducked, as a killing curse passed above her head and crashed on the nearest wall.

.

.

_"NOT MY DAUGHTER, YOU BITCH!"_ yelled the woman, and Bellatrix Lestrange turned to see her new opponent. A wild laughter escaped her lips as she saw the chubby blood traitor, the housewife aura still apparent despite the look of rage on her face. That would be fun.

"No! Stay back!" Molly Weasley screamed, when some students tried to assist her. "Stay back! She is mine!"

That would be fun, indeed.

Curses crossed in mid-air, as they dueled. But for Bellatrix, it was just a game, almost like a cat plays with a mouse before killing it. The blood traitor was her mouse, a very entertainingly angry mouse.

"What will happen to your children when I've killed you?" she taunted, knowing that would provoke her mouse even more. "When mummy goes the same way as Freddie?"

"You-will-never-touch-our-children-again!" Weasley screamed, and Bellatrix laughed again, one last time, right before the end. A cold, icy feeling on her chest made her breath stop.

_What about my child?_

That last, uninvited thought of absolute despair echoed in her mind, and then she collapsed.

.

.

Narcissa waited, absolutely certain that her sister would stand up, perhaps with that wild fanatical flame that always filled her eyes when she rushed into battle, the harsh laughter…

But nothing happened. The stars of the Great Hall's enchanted ceiling reflected on Bellatrix's empty eyes, now nothing more than dead black pools. For a crazy moment, Narcissa was certain that this odd, eerie reflection was a personal mockery against the House of Black, whose stars had all fallen, vanished, one after the other.

But there was still one remaining star, she realized, disowned and cursed, but still alive, and her eyes scanned the cheering crowd, searching for a face she had not seen in almost thirty years.

Why was it so easy to find her? Perhaps the thread had never been entirely cut, after all. Andromeda was neither cheering, nor mourning for the death of their sister. She had the same expression Narcissa must have had, a strange mixture of confusion, relief and pain. Their eyes met, for a mere second, and then Andromeda averted hers, as the Dark Lord's rage exploded.

.

.

"Andromeda…come on, let's go…come sit with us…"

A hand on her shoulder.

Andromeda did not react, and soon, Minerva McGonagall withdrew her hand.

So it was finally over. Voldemort was officially dead, after all this time.

Some of the survivors celebrated his defeat, the triumph of the Boy Who Lived, the end of the war. She would be happy about it, too, she reckoned, in the future, if the word _happy_ ever meant anything to her again. All she could feel at that moment was pain, and anger, and a weird apathy that slowly spread in her bones.

She had fought. After spending many years dedicated to household spells and protective charms and healing potions, she had raised her wand to attack, to fight, to destroy those who had taken everything from her. She had killed Rabastan, the only Lestrange she had managed to find during the battle. She had been looking for Bellatrix, but Molly Weasley had gotten there before her.

And then she had tended to those who were in need, healed the wounded, before kneeling next to her daughter's body and holding her cold hand. That was all she could do. Now her tears seemed to have dried off. They would come back, or so she hoped. Although there was not much room for hope in her current state. No hope. Only reality. The terrifying, definite reality of death, the paralyzing silence of it, the knowledge that there would be no _after_. The knowledge that she would never again hear her daughter's voice, she would never see her laughing, or morphing her nose into funny shapes, or raising her son…that this would be the last image of Dora in her memory, because she would never get a day older than this.

She saw the same knowledge in Molly Weasley's swollen eyes. The woman was sitting next to the lifeless body of her own child, her hand gripping tightly the hand of his twin brother.

Then Andromeda's vision was blocked by a tall, slender figure.

Narcissa's cloak was a little dusty, but this was the only visible sign she had just survived a deadly battle. Andromeda studied the face she once knew as well as her own. Although it was older than she remembered, a few age lines here and there, she recognized every feature. The real difference was the expression, though. Time had turned Narcissa's face into a frozen, haughty, emotionless mask.

"What are you doing here, Narcissa? Shouldn't you be in the other room, crying over our sister's corpse?"

At the sound of the last word, something stirred on that mask, and with a faint, sadistic pleasure, Andromeda watched the pale face's muscles tighten. But soon the pleasure faded away. She realized hurting Narcissa didn't really interest her - the last spark of interest for anything had died, along with Nymphadora.

"I thought I had lost Draco tonight, as well" Narcissa whispered.

"Except you didn't".

The mask cracked. "What I am trying to say…is that I understand".

Andromeda stared at her, and then she laughed darkly. "You understand" she repeated, shaking her head. Not far from them, a woman and a man were crying over the body of a student. The boy was young, way too young. He was underage. He wasn't even supposed to be there. "Look at them" she told her sister, pointing at the mourning parents. "They are Muggles." The anti-muggle enchantments had been lifted for a few hours, so that Muggle parents could collect the bodies of their children. "Look at them. They don't understand why their son is dead. They can't understand the _perversion_ that caused so much death. Do you think she is suffering less than I do?" she asked, looking at the Muggle mother's red face, buried in her son's hair. "Less than you would be suffering, had you lost your son?"

Narcissa quickly averted her eyes from the sad scene. "No" she muttered. "I don't think so".

"But somehow her pain seems insignificant to you, doesn't it? You still believe that this kid had no place in this castle, in your perfect, pureblood world, that his death was the natural consequence of his lower nature. Don't you, _Cissy_?"

"I don't know." The mask cracked even more. "I no longer know anything".

"Yes, of course. It is quite remarkable how your public opinions change, depending on whether Voldemort wins or loses." said Andromeda coldly, and this time Narcissa's mask was shattered, and she was left uncovered, unshielded, to watch the dead boy and his parents. A shadow of empathy flickered in the blue depths of her eyes, so rare, unseen, even, and just when Andromeda thought her own feelings were gone forever, she felt pity. Pity for the sister she once adored, the sister she once considered a part of herself, before life violently separated them. Pity for the woman who didn't harbor Bellatrix's darkness in her soul, who had not killed, who had not tortured, whose forearm wasn't burned with the Dark Mark…

But then Andromeda glanced at Molly and Fred Weasley again, and her eyes wandered across the ruined Great Hall, and she saw more distraught faces, more sobbing figures next to fallen bodies.

And her pity for Narcissa disappeared.

How many of the victims would be alive, had there not been a consenting audience, standing beside the criminals, supporting their actions, letting them bring death and destruction upon others? Had Narcissa stood up to the Death Eaters that paraded before her eyes, had she tried to restrain the members of her family, had she opposed to them, like-

"She had a daughter" whispered Narcissa.

Andromeda let the words sink in, unable to decide how to react, or if she even cared enough to react. "What?" she finally asked.

"Bella has- had a daughter. She is a few months old. Nobody knows about her, except Lucius, Draco and I - and Rodolphus, of course..." Narcissa was speaking very quickly now, and her voice was so low that her words were barely audible. "The thing is I- I don't know what will happen, but I might not be able to… I mean I- we will probably be arrested. If they send us to Azkaban, this child will have nobody. So I thought of…"

"Of me? You thought of _me_?" she asked, her voice heavy with bitterness and irony. "Bellatrix killed my daughter, and you expect me to raise hers? You expect me to raise this girl along with my grandson, who will never know his mother because of _her_…? That is too much, Narcissa, even for you. Who are you going to ask next? Augusta Longbottom, perhaps?"

"Bella was our sister…"

"She wasn't my sister, she ceased bearing that title years ago, the same way you did! And, really, why would you trust a blood traitor like myself to raise a precious Lestrange pureblood?"

Narcissa found nothing to reply to this. "The child's name is L-"

"_I don't want to know her bloody name!"_ Andromeda breathed. "Bellatrix knew Dora's name all too well, and look at what she did to her! Perhaps it would be wise of you to withhold that kind of information from me... or you never know what I might do".

She was a Black, after all. The legacy she had so desperately denied all this time ago, the legacy she hated, returned in her darkest hours. The Blacks were impulsive, lethal, vengeful, unforgiving. Even the disowned ones, even the bright exceptions. Sirius's good nature had never been enough, it had never been strong enough to extinguish all those dark traits, transmitted for centuries through their blood, like a deadly disease. And she had killed him, too, her dear late sister had killed him in a duel where that disease, that _curse_ that ran through their veins exploded. She had taken Sirius's life, just like she had taken Nymphadora's life, just like she had cast Andromeda away all those years ago, as though as she had been aiming to eliminate all those who had tried to resist the curse, to fight their demons, to live like normal, decent people. Dora had been a decent person. Her little girl had been good and brave and funny and wonderful, and now she had lost her forever, like she had lost Ted, like she had lost everyone…

Waves of pain hit her again, and she tightened her grip around Nymphadora's hand. 'Go" she said to Narcissa through gritted teeth. "Just… go away".

.

.

Minerva McGonagall stood by the window, her lips a thin, white line. Snape's possessions were still all around the Headmaster's study. Who would inherit those objects? Or was she supposed to just throw them away? That was something she would have gladly done a few hours ago, but now… now she knew the man had been loyal to Dumbledore.

But that was the least of her concerns, merely something to keep her mind busy, to distract her from the real problems of the war's outcome.

She looked out of the window, several floors down, at the castle's ruined gates. Rodolphus Lestrange was being violently pushed by Aurors, as they guided him out of Hogwarts, away from his dead wife's body, to escort him to Azkaban.

The last words of Narcissa Malfoy, before she was put under arrest along with her husband and son, haunted her. A child of the Lestranges. Even the fact that Bellatrix Lestrange had the time and luxury of being pregnant, amidst the war and all her murderous activities, was beyond the rules of common sense.

The war separates children from their parents. That she knew. It was a fact. The newborn son of Remus and Nymphadora was one of them, but he had his grandmother, like Neville Longbottom, seventeen years ago, had Augusta. Most children have someone willing to keep them, to adopt them. This is human nature, taking care of the unprotected, the vulnerable, the ones who suffered under the cruelty of the world.

But what happens when the unprotected and those who inflict said cruelty happen to be on the same side?

No, that was absurd. An innocent baby belongs to no side. Babies take no sides. That was another fact.

"Where is this child now?" asked Professor Sprout.

"Kingsley sent an Auror to take care of this. He is heading to the Malfoy Manor, as we speak. They did not know where to take her, so they are bringing her here... temporarily"

"The only thing we know is that this child shouldn't be raised by the Malfoys!"

"Oh, we do know that", agreed Professor McGonagall. "They might accompany Rodolphus Lestrange to Azkaban prison, anyway".

"Andromeda Tonks…?" asked Professor Flitwick reluctantly.

"She already declined, Filius. And, honestly, who can blame her?" Professor McGonagall sighed. "I wish Dumbledore was here" she said, glancing at the portrait on the wall, where the former headmaster's painting was sound asleep. "He would know what to do…" she whispered, but then she remembered the last time Albus Dumbledore got to decide the fate of a parentless child. Harry had turned out fine, he had just saved the wizarding world before their eyes, but the boy had suffered terribly, she knew that all too well. She had known that since the night Dumbledore had left him at the Muggles' doorstep, and despite her faith in Dumbledore, she had never quite forgiven herself for allowing this to happen.

"What is the ministry planning to do afterwards?" asked Professor Sprout. "The child cannot stay here forever, surely!"

"They haven't thought this through". They didn't even have a proper, functioning ministry yet. "But Kingsley admitted that if no relative accepts her, she will be sent away."

He had failed to define _away_, though. What did away mean? Another family? Was there a wizard family in the world that would gladly adopt the child of the most notorious Death Eaters? Another country, perhaps? Or would she just be thrown into the Muggle world, until the day her Hogwarts letter would arrive? There had never been a need for a foundation that would take care of orphans, because of the limited wizard population. Such matters were resolved individually… A close relative, or an extended family member, or a godparent, or a childless couple. But in this case…what would happen in this case? The family members were unwilling or unsuitable and there were no known godparents – and McGonagall doubted they would be suitable, even if they existed.

Her colleagues were obviously having similar thoughts, for Slughorn said: "She could be sent to one of those…those Muggle houses for orphan children."

"We don't want any more You-Know-Whos, do we?" Flitwick asked, and the two women agreed silently. McGonagall realized how outrageous it was, that they were already seeing a monster in a baby who couldn't talk yet, who hadn't even made its first steps.

"Anyway, this is out of our hands" she concluded, forcing herself to step away from the window. "Let us discuss matters we can actually _do_ something about, like the reconstruction of Hogwarts".


End file.
